


Apologies

by Magnetism_bind



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Blow Jobs, Guilt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the end of episode one. D'Artagnan still feels guilty after accusing Athos of murdering his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologies

Athos may not blame him, but it’s not quite so easy for D'Artagnan to forgive himself.

D’Artagnan watches the musketeer across the tavern and wishes he had said something. That had been his intention, but the look in Athos’s eyes had halted the words on his tongue. And then they had walked on, and the moment had passed.

Now he could say something, but the idea of approaching Athos in the midst of the tavern is somehow far more daunting than facing him with a sword. D’Artagnan is no coward, of course. But he had accused the man of murdering his father. It’s not a thing easily forgotten.

He will wait a little while. Perhaps another moment will arise.

* * *

In the end Athos doesn't need to be helped home. He's drunk enough wine to flatten a small army but his stride is steady as ever when he leaves the tavern.

Meanwhile after Porthos had easily beaten D’Artagnan, he had gotten up caught up in another game of cards. He half turns towards the door to go after Athos and D'Artagnan claps him on the arm. "I'll see he gets home safely."

He's rewarded by a warm smile. Porthos settles back to his game and D’Artagnan hurries after Athos. This is his chance.

* * *

D’Artagnan follows Athos closely for half a street or two before the musketeer stops dead in the middle of the lane.

"You might as well come out. I can hear you."

"Didn't expect you not to." D'Artagnan mutters. He steps out from behind the wagon he was loitering behind, his expression sheepish.

Athos gives him a sardonic look. "Didn't you?" He starts on again.

D’Artagnan follows.

“Why are you following me?” Athos inquires after a moment and D’Artagnan is still there at his heels. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

“I do, but-”

“Then you should go there.” Athos says. “And leave me in peace.”

"I wanted to apologize about what I said before,” D’Artagnan bites his lip, ashamed of his accusations. He’s not sorry for wanting revenge on his father’s killer but now, looking at Athos, he is truly ashamed of his headstrong assumptions.

Athos represses a sigh. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it did. What did it matter if some young country boy thought him a murderer for a brief span of time? Yet it had stung when D’Artagnan first accused him.

The guilt in D’Artagnan’s eyes stings now. Athos looks away. "Well, now you've said it. You can be on your way."

"Let me make it up to you." D’Artagnan stops again. “Please.”

Athos glances down at the hand D'Artagnan has placed on his arm. "And how exactly did you intend to do that?" He had thought D’Artagnan impetuous and naive. Now he’s not so sure. The low cadence to the Gascon’s voice is almost provocative. More suited to the bedroom than a dark street.

"Like this," D'Artagnan's hand goes to the front of his breeches.

“You’re very bold, boy.”

“And you’re not telling me to stop.”

It’s true. Athos could end this here and now. D’Artagnan’s fingers stroke lightly over the leather covering his groin. He hardens slightly under the persistent touch and D’Artagnan smiles.

“This is not the sort of thing one does in the middle of the street.”

Of course D’Artagnan has an answer for that. He leads Athos down the nearest alley. “Here. Will this do?”

Athos leans against the wall, on the verge of faint amusement as the younger man goes to his knees. “Is this how they apologize in Gascony?”

“Only when they’re truly sorry for their actions.” D’Artagnan smiles up at him, and reaches again for his breeches.

Athos could tell him to stop. He could protest that this isn’t necessary. He does neither, remaining silent as D’Artagnan takes him in his mouth. It’s a simple act perhaps, but like swordplay D’Artagnan has a natural affiliation for it. His hands grip Athos’s grips gently but confidently as he sucks Athos’s cock. Athos leans his head back and stares up at the sky.

Perhaps it is necessary, this small act of reparation. With any luck D’Artagnan will not live his life in the shadow of his father’s death. The Gascon is young. As the days pass the pain will fade, and all that will remain is the shroud of grief. Even that will numb in time.

Athos makes not even a sound as he comes. D’Artagnan swallows his seed down, before gazing up at him.

He looks even younger now. Athos resists the urge to cup his cheek. Apart from with Aramis and Porthos, gestures of affection do not come naturally to him. He doesn’t understand how this boy has marched so determinedly into his life.

“There.” D’Artagnan says.

“There indeed. “ Athos tucks himself away and fastens his breeches as D’Artagnan stands once more.

Athos hesitates, and then nods to D’Artagnan. “You do have somewhere to stay tonight…?”

“Yes,” D’Artagnan gestures in the opposite direction. “I found a room while you were…” He blushes again, but this time there is no guilt and yes, Athos is indeed amused.

“Good.” Athos nods to him. “You should get a good night’s sleep.” He moves closer, testing D’Artagnan’s nerve. D’Artagnan doesn’t step away. It would be easy to kiss him here in this alley. Except Athos doesn’t kiss raw untrained boys. Even after an apology as pleasing as that.

“Especially if you intend to join the musketeers.”

D’Artagnan’s smile is as warm as sunlight on a long winter’s day. Athos moves past the illumination and strides down the alley. He has wine at home that needs drinking. He hopes it will dim the night once more.

D’Artagnan gazes after him, brushing his fingers across his lips. He chuckles, resting his hand on his sword. The last few days have been among the most extraordinary of his life. D’Artagnan thinks perhaps his father would be proud of him after all.

He turns and strolls down the alley, whistling as he goes.


End file.
